Surprise Party
by triquetral
Summary: It's Sam's birthday. Dean's going to make sure that this year they celebrate. One-shot. beginnings of sick!Dean, prequel to Star Trek to the After Party


Disclaimer: Don't own. Mo's the pity.

**Surprise Party**

The Impala pulled into the parking lot of one of the choicer bars in town, the engine rumbling its steady thrum, the vibrations driving right up into the tan benchseats. Dean's own version of Magic Fingers at his disposal any time he wanted. He peered out the windshield as blinking red and blue neon lights shone down, letting patrons know that the places was open _and_ had beer.

Those were really the only two requirements of the evening.

Dean cleared his throat. The first time is for him. The second time is for his brother, asleep in the passenger seat.

No dice.

"Sam!" His voice wasn't really there as he spoke, so he gave the throat clearing a third go. "Sammy! C'mon!"

Dean thumped a hand on his brother's chest which had Sam sitting up in a hurry, throwing confused and vaguely grumpy looks toward the driver's seat.

"What?" Sam pushed himself out of his slumped position and rubbed at his eyes.

"What nothin'. Dinnertime, baby brother." Dean gave an exaggerated wag of his eyebrows and gestured toward the restaurant.

It's been awhile since Dean has called Sam 'baby brother.' Years, even. So that's probably what earned him the somewhat incredulous look before Sam peered out the window.

"We splurging tonight?"

"Why not?"

Sam shook his head before getting out of the car, that hair of his swinging back and forth like he was in a goddamn shampoo commercial. Dean quickly followed suit, quickly throwing his jacket on and stuffing his hands in his pockets, catching Sam giving him a look. Now it's his turn to ask what.

"It's gonna be summer soon, dude. Really? Can't go inside without your cardigan, Grandma?"

"It's not even close to summer!" Dean pursed his lips slightly, scoffing at the teasing, but okay with it. That grin Sam was wearing was genuine. That was enough. "And the fact you even know what a cardigan is means I never should have let you watch She-Ra as a kid."

Dean laughed, pausing to cough behind his fist as Sam huffed in indignation.

Teasing Completed. Proceed to Next Level.

They crossed the parking lot, footfalls in sync with each other as their boots crunched into gravel that was wet with recent rainfall. It had stopped, but the dark sky above them was colored with light charcoal smudges of clouds. This kinda bummed Dean out. It would have been a nice night to sit and look up at the stars. Tonight.. of all nights.

Dean shuttered the wistful look on his face before Sam can see and call him on it, quickly pulling open the heavy wooden door of the bar, stifling a groan as the weight pulled on his muscles and amped up an ache already there. God knows Dean loved driving his car nearly as much as he loved his brother, but the things driving for hours did... He's exhausted and he could use about an hour under a steaming hot shower to get the chill and kinks out, but there's no way they're hitting a motel first. If he saw a bed right now, he's not sure he could resist the temptation.

"Ladies first." Dean grinned, waving the way for Sam like some sort of classy English butler.

"Age before beauty, asshat." Sam returned fire, eyes gleaming with playfulness.

Dean matched his brother's expression in full force. "Y'know, Sammy, I keep thinking one of these days you're gonna be original and come back with something different..."

"You first."

Smiles on both their faces, they entered a dimly lit room, the musty smell of spilled beer and old peanuts assaulting their nostrils right away. The bar was full of people making a night of it, flannel wearing regulars as well as the occasional pair of suited businessmen spread out among them, an odd pair of girls with brightly colored umbrella drinks in front of them. The sound of the many conversations going on competed with the music which was blaring over speakers that trailed along the walls.

At least it was Hendrix.

"You find us seats, I'll get the drinks?" Dean says loudly. The screech of Jimmy's riff was earsplitting, making him tilt his head as if he could smother the sound in his jacket somehow.

Sam narrows his eyes a little, the noise that was surrounding them not seeming to bother him in the slightest.

"You wanna go someplace else?"

Dean looked at him in surprise, straightening up a little. "Me? No! No. Go on and get seats."

Sam shrugged a little and turned around to head around the corner, following the line of the bar, having to swerve to avoid a low-hanging lamp. Dean's eyes followed him until he was out of sight and then went to work tracking down the bartender, a woman with chestnut hair who sort of reminded him of Ellen. Dean squeezed himself in between two patrons.. making sure it is two girls, of course, and flagged her down with one arm.

Drinks secured, he made his way back to Sam, putting three pints of beer on the smooth black top of the bar. Sam turned to him, his brow raising in question.

"You double-fisting it tonight?"

"No, you are." Dean pushed two of the beers directly in front of his brother, a look of determination on his face.

Sam blinked in surprise. "What...why?"

Dean said nothing, just brought the foamy rim of his own beer to his lips, taking a long sip of his drink until it sunk in for Sam.

What today is.

"Dean..."

"We're celebrating, Sam. You're my brother. And I, for one, am happy you're alive. ...So shuddup and drink."

The last part is half order, half happy birthday. And Sam takes it willingly, starting in on his own beer.

They'd never been big on birthdays to begin with, no parties that either could remember. Just small tokens throughout the years, most stolen or bought with cash that was hustled or gained through fraud. Even if they'd been big on birthdays, it wasn't like you could just accumulate stuff when you were living on the road. That's if they weren't in the middle of a case and remembered at all.

But they'd tiptoed around birthdays since Sam had died in Cold Oak, right around his own birthday, and Dean had been gutted by hellhounds the next year. They hadn't been happy memories for either, an anniversary of being alternately struck down with a painful blow or struck down with grief.

But this year, Dean decided... fuck it. He's making it happen. At least in a small way. Even if he felt like he was going to fall asleep in his drink, or possibly have his ears blown out from the noise, a nagging headache making itself known at his temples.

But Sam was sitting there quietly, a small smile on his face that showed slight dimples in the corners, already half done his first beer.

"Why this year?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders at the question. "Why not?"

"I just sorta figured that was done with. Considering all that's happened..."

Dean leaned on the bar and turned his barstool toward his brother. "Oh so what?" he said dismissively. "You died, I died.. we're both here now. If you ask me, that gives us even more reason to do this right."

Sam nodded his assent, running his hand through his hair as it fell in his face, then finishing his beer. "Okay."

"Okay." Dean nodded in return, happy that there wasn't going to be an argument about this, happy that Sam was going to just try to enjoy the night. That was the point, after all.

"Pool?" Sam asked, nodding toward the felted green tables toward the back of the room.

Dean looked up after coughing, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna get beat on your birthday?"

Sam laughed. "Maybe _you_ don't wanna get beat." They were more than evenly matched in the billiard room. Poker was another story, but this...? Sam could definitely kick Dean's ass on a good night.

Dean grabbed his beer and stood up. "Well, then what are you waiting for?"

Sam stood hurriedly, grabbing his second beer and following his brother toward the back of the room, trying not to spill his beer as they managed narrow people-filled passageways between dining tables.

With chicken wings and a tied score at pool, the night wore on. It certainly wore on Dean. Which was fine, so long as Sam didn't notice. But Sam is Sam, after all, looking at him intently with those eagle eyes, the kind of look that gets reserved for judging suspects.

"You wanna get out of here?"

"Naw, I'm good."

"Really?" Sam said, in a disbelieving voice.

"Yeah, _really_." Dean used his 'that's the end of it' voice. Even so, Sam was leading the way back to the bar. Not that he wasn't relieved to sit down for a spell.

Dean was in the middle of trying not to cough into his whiskey chaser when Sam finally came out with it.

"You look like shit, dude."

"...Well, gee, Sammy, thanks." Dean managed to take a sip, trying to ignore the comment completely.

"No, seriously. C'mon." Sam stood back up, stretching his long form upward, his hand slapping one of the wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. "I'm calling it a night."

Sam thumped Dean on the back and swung his head toward the door, the light behind him casting a glow on his silhouette, making the smile on his face seem that much brighter. "I think we've partied this place out anyway."

Dean nodded and stood to his feet, following his brother's lumbering swagger to the doors. He paused to look up when they got outside. The smell of rain was still on the air, and clouds were still straddling the stratosphere like a two dollar whore.

"No stars. Sucks." Dean looked over at Sam, who was also taking a moment to gaze upward.

"S'okay." A relaxed smile crossed Sam's face before he continued forward, leading them toward the Impala as it gleamed under the lights of the parking lot. He turned around, walking backward with his arms outstretched. "Hey. Maybe next year."

Yeah. Maybe next year.

THE END


End file.
